


The Bad Ending

by hypnoshatesme



Series: I couldn't decide so I made it your problem [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, it's been hours and i don't remember what else this contains i'm sorry, minimal editing because I can't look at this anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Gerry takes too long to reach the end of his birthday present.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Series: I couldn't decide so I made it your problem [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939126
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31





	The Bad Ending

**Author's Note:**

> basically:  
> Friend: what about this cute idea :)  
> me, about a month later, in the middle of the fucking night: OH BUT I COULD MAKE IT *SAD*
> 
> I'm sorry, Luc.

It was a birthday present. Gerry had mentioned he wanted the book off-handedly, and, as usual when he expressed such wishes, Michael held on to it, remembered it for the next opportunity he got to give Gerry a gift. Not that Michael always waited for such opportunities. 

He liked giving Gerry things throughout the year, loved seeing Gerry’s surprised, tentatively joyous expression even after a year passed like that, more. It was such an adorable expression to watch, the doubt disappearing as Gerry realised that there were never strings attached to Michael’s gifts, that Gerry hadn’t forgotten anything, didn’t have to worry about getting Michael something back if he didn’t want to. 

It had taken a bit to make Gerry understand all that, his understanding of gifts and presents being somewhat hazy. Whenever Mary got him something - which was a rare occasion indeed - he had known she’d hold it against him next time he dared to refuse one of her lessons, guilt him into obedience. Sometimes Gerry hated those instances even more than when she threatened him, screamed at him. He cherished her gifts, especially as a child when his understanding of gifting was based on glimpses of it on TV. It seemed to be something people did when to make each other happy, and Gerry had always been eager to believe his mother might want to see him smile occasionally. He knew she certainly hated seeing him cry, she made sure he understood that. So when she’d use his meagre possessions against him - and she eventually always did - it stung badly.

So Michael’s ‘this made me think of you so I bought it’ attitude had taken a while to understand and accept. It had been very strange indeed when Gerry noticed that Michael looked just as happy as Gerry in those instances. Mary had never looked like that when she gave him something. Gerry hadn’t understood. But he got there, eventually. He still never got fully used to the random little presents, and Michael was quite happy about that. He liked the expression of utter surprise a lot.

The first birthday present wasn’t as much of a surprise, though it had been the first time Michael got him something for his birthday. They hadn’t been together yet, then, just kind-of-coworkers starting to get comfortable around each other. It had been a shock when Michael showed up with a cake on the day Gerry had mentioned to be his birthday after asked.

“Did you want something special for lunch?” Gerry had joked as Michael had put his things down and started to wipe the rain off his face.

Michael had given him a curious look. “It’s for you. It’s your birthday, no?”

Gerry had been stunned, “I...it...is? I wasn’t, I mean...I didn’t expect-”

“Was this...I’m sorry, was this out of line?” Michael’s confusion had shifted into concern. His hair was still dripping and Gerry couldn’t tell if the chill-flushed cheeks were getting redder as he continued, “I know...I know we don’t really know each other very well but, uh...it...it’s your birthday. You should have cake?”

Gerry didn’t tell him, then, that he never had cake for his birthday, that he had never even had cake until he got older and tried to defy Mary in any way he could think of. Not that she cared. She certainly had never cared about his birthday.

“Gerry…?” Michael tried, sounding worried. Gerry had gone rather still, eyes far away.

He blinked a couple times, “Hm? Oh, oh...n-no, I’m sorry, I- I was just...uh, surprised.” It was an understatement. Gerry had no idea what exactly he was feeling, because he had never had something like this happen to him. “Uh, thank you?” Gerry was a little unsure what the appropriate reaction to this situation was, but the warm smile Michael gave him was enough to soothe his nerves a little. 

“Happy birthday!” Michael had said with his bright smile.

And Gerry thought it might just be.

Gerry’s shocked surprise had calmed as his birthday never went ignored by Michael in the years that followed, so Gerry wasn’t too stunned by the book. Michael looked a little nervous as Gerry unpacked it, but Michael was always unsure whether he made the best decision with his presents. He always did, of course, but that expression would only really leave his face when he saw Gerry’s genuine smile and crinkling eyes. A kiss never hurt with that, either, and Gerry pressed his lips to Michael’s blushing cheek, only making it blush more. 

While Gerry had taken time to get used to the gifting, Michael was still getting used to casual displays of affection, the easy kisses and small touches that seemed to come so naturally to Gerry but meant the world to Michael, who had never dreamed of finding himself in a situation when the question about kissing Gerry’s cheek died on his lips because Gerry was already angling his face towards him, eyes still bleary from sleep as his hands continued to prepare his coffee. It had been unnerving for Michael to lean in and press his lips to Gerry’s cheek without asking the first time, the underlying fear that he might be misunderstanding the motion nearly making him pull back at the last moment. But he didn’t, and Gerry hummed appreciatively and Michael thought his heart might melt at the tired, warm smile Gerry gave him before pushing Michael’s mug of tea into his hands.

He didn’t freeze in awe every time Gerry took his hand anymore, or leaned in to kiss his jaw, but his heart still skipped a beat and it wasn’t uncommon for his face to still heat up under the gentle attention. 

He gave Gerry a slightly nervous smile. “That’s...that was the book you wanted, right?”

Gerry chuckled at that. Michael always took great care in finding out exactly whatever book Gerry had his eyes on at any point in time. “Yes, Michael. Thank you.” 

He leaned in for another kiss, a sweet and lingering one right on Michael’s lips and Michael sighed, relieved.

Gerry had all intention to start reading the book the same evening, but Michael’s lips kissing a trail up his arm, his blunt nails running up Gerry’s stomach, chest, after they found their way underneath Gerry’s - _Michael’s_ \- shirt quickly had him forget about that plan.

The book stayed on his bedside table until the weekend, when he finally found the time to crack it open. He could hear Michael cleaning the kitchen from the couch, a soft melody as he started humming as he so often did doing repetitive tasks. Gerry smiled, and started reading.

It had taken years before Gerry finally accepted that he did _like_ books. Books had been a source of pain for all of his life, and even thought he knew they weren’t all Leitners - he literally specialised in telling those apart from just normal books, after all - Gerry still felt a seething hatred towards books in general for a good while. He used to read as a child, but the escapism only worked for so long. Soon, the very shape of a book just gave him anxiety, later filled him with anger. 

He started reading again while he waited for Mary’s case to be through. There wasn’t much else to do in prison and none of the books there had been bound in leather, which made holding them a lot easier. It was all distraction he had from what he saw the moment he dared to close his eyes, and Gerry clung to it. 

He tried to make it a habit to pick up a book once in a while after he was out, maybe because it was what had worked while he was waiting to be released, maybe because somewhere deep down, Gerry had realised that he actually enjoyed reading in that time. He liked the idea of disappearing between pages for a while, escaping life and his mind into stranger lands and characters. 

Gerry always took great care in reading books from beginning to end, taking in every word carefully, resisting the urge to give into his impatience and skip any of the parts or take a peak at later pages when he wasn’t satisfied with his reading speed. Gerry liked the challenge, liked to be able to control himself how to interact with each book. His mother wasn’t there to force him to read specific parts, he didn’t have to skip certain sentences to keep his wits about. They were normal books and Gerry grew fond of them as they kept taking him away for a little while, gave him food for thought and something to talk to Michael about that wasn’t work related. 

Gerry remembered the other book he had been reading before picking up the one Michael had gotten him sometime during the week and Michael’s book returned to his bedside table, where his started and soon to be started always piled up. He suddenly felt the urge to finish the other one first. 

Gerry didn’t look up from his book when he felt the mattress dip as Michael joined him in bed. He did readjust his position when Michael put his head in his lap so they were both comfortable. 

A moment passed in silence, before Michael spoke up, “Thought you had given up on that one.” 

“No, my mood just changed.” Gerry shrugged.

“Was the one I got you not good?” He chuckled, but there was a nervous edge in it.

Gerry looked at him and shook his head. “That’s not it. It _is_ good. I just needed something else.”

He pet Michael’s cheek, watching his worried expression turn into something closer to content. Gerry’s fingers started tracing Michael’s features with a fond smile, eyes following his fingers’ journey, taking in the now familiar lines of Michael’s face. Michael returned the smile with a somewhat amused one after a moment. He was still holding the book with his other hand, but he seemed to have forgotten about it.

“Are you reading my face now?” he teased, hand brushing Gerry’s arm in a ghost of a touch.

“Admiring it,” Gerry corrected, thumb running over his cheek lovingly. “Did I ever tell you the mole on your cheek looks like a heart?”

Michael gave him a confused look. “The...what?”

Gerry grinned. “You never noticed?”

“I don’t…” Michael drew his eyebrows together, hand coming to the spot Gerry had just touched. He was vaguely aware of having a mole on one side there, but he couldn’t even remember if it was on the right or left cheek, much less what shape it was. He had always just assumed it was some kind of round, as most of the other moles all over his body. “I’m not sure I know what you mean?”

Gerry laughed, and gently nudged him with his leg. “Get up and look at it.”

“I just got comfortable!” Michael whined, but he was already pulling himself up, though not without sighing dramatically.

Gerry pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Michael couldn’t quite fight the smile wiping the pout off his face. He got up from bed and walked to the mirror next to the closet. Michael didn't spend much time looking in the mirror if he could help it. He simply didn't let his eyes linger on the picture of the whole, focusing on his face- not good, either- before his eyes finally found the mole. He heard Gerry get up from bed but was too busy frowning at the mole, trying to determine its shape. He leaned in closer to the mirror and angled his head a bit. Like this it did look a little like a heart, he had to admit.

“Well, from this angle…” He mumbled.

Gerry wrapped his arms around him from behind and buried his face in the back of Michael’s neck.

“You're full of love from every angle.” He mumbled.

Michael blushed, but looked confused. What did that even mean? Where had that come from? “Gerry, what do you-”

“And it’s beautiful.” Gerry continued and nuzzled his neck. "You are beautiful." He raised his head with a sigh and leaned it against Michael’s shoulder, catching his eyes in the mirror with a smile. 

Michael let out a soft chuckle, settling into the embrace. He took them in in the mirror, Gerry in his sweatpants and Michael’s checkered blue and purple jumper, Michael in one of Gerry’s bandshirts and and what was probably one of Gerry’s pajama bottoms considering how short they were on him. dering how short they were on him. The soft orange cardigan was definitely Michael’s and it clashed horribly with the jumper Gerry was wearing and Michael smiled and leaned his head against Gerry’s. He could look at himself like this without the surge of discomfort he usually felt doing so. They looked good together and it made Michael feel warm.

Gerry always took long with books, partly because he simply didn’t have much time between his work for the Institute and the Leitners he still ended up following up on outside of work. He just couldn’t ignore them. Michael only had a vague idea about what Gerry did and he never asked for more detail, even if he looked like he wanted to sometimes. Usually he gave Gerry that expression when he noticed a new bruise or such. He was tracing the one under Gerry’s eye with that same worry, the crease between his eyebrows. 

“You know I’d tell you if...if you wanted.” Gerry looked him in the eyes. They had this similar conversation every time, but Gerry just felt like he had to repeat himself, to make sure Michael understood that just because he hadn’t told him before it didn’t mean he wouldn’t tell him whenever Michael felt ready to hear it.

Michael sighed and let his hand drop back onto the table. “I don’t know if I want that, Gerry.”

Gerry nodded. “If you ever feel like you do, tell me.”

“I will, thank you.” Michael gave him a thin smile. “I know it probably...doesn’t make much sense to you. But I…” He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I’m...I’m happy like this. With...how things are. I’m afraid that might change if I...pushed to know, to understand. I just….I want to live like this, if I can.”

“I understand.” And Gerry did. He had wished so many times he could un-know what he knew, could somehow have escaped the life he had lead. That he could escape it _now._

But the knowledge made it impossible, weight heavy, pulled him back every time he tried. He had wished for ignorance many times before so he _understood_ even if deliberately not searching for the truth was a foreign idea to him. He sometimes wondered whether he would still feel that urge to push until he got to the bottom of everything if it weren’t for the Eye’s influence, if it weren’t for the _knowledge._ W

here did Gerry stop and the paranormal shit that held his life in a vise grip began? He had started to believe they were too hopelessly intertwined to tell even that, by now. He shook his head. He understood Michael, and it was his decision to not know and Gerry respected that, he did, maybe even envied his ability to deny such knowledge. Sometimes he just wished he could tell him, could talk about the big, vague picture behind all of those smaller things Michael caught glimpses of. He wondered if one day he would be able to. But for now, he guessed, he simply had to focus on what he had. It wasn’t a bad thing to focus on at all.

He took one of Michael’s hands and squeezed it. “I’m happy, too.” He ran his thumb over the back of Michael’s hand. “With you.”

It wasn’t too long ago since such a sentence would have Michael spiral into panic, desperately trying to dampen the giddy feeling those words spread inside him. He didn’t dare to believe it, wanted to keep himself ready for the inevitable abandonment that’d follow once Gerry got bored of him. But Gerry kept saying it, and helped him calm down when he worked himself into a full-blown panic attack in those instances. Gerry was _there_ and Michael had started to believe that he would be there in the future, too, and sometimes the realisation that he could allow himself to think that without instantly trying to cut himself off stunned him more than Gerry telling him he was happy with Michael. It made his heart flutter, the fact that he could indulge in the warmth now. 

He squeezed Gerry’s hand back with a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Gerry answered and not for the first time, Michael wished he could lose himself in those warm brown eyes.

Gerry, with all the breaks he took while reading - and eventually, after a break that was so long he could barely remember what he had read and had to start again - was roughly at the halfway point of the book when Michael left for his trip with Gertrude. 

“Maybe you’ll finish it while I’m gone,” Michael mumbled the night before after Gerry put the book to the side and cuddled up to him.

“Oh yes, it was _your_ presence that distracted me horribly,” Gerry snickered and rubbed their noses together. “You know I’m just all over the place as a reader.”

Michael grinned. “Sometimes as a person, too.”

Gerry cocked an eyebrow, grinning back. “That’s quite something from you, who turned the apartment upside down earlier in search of something he had already packed.”

“Sorry…” Michael sounded bashful again and Gerry pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“You know I don’t mind, love.” He smoothed Michael’s hair gently. “You should get some sleep. Will have to get up early.”

Michael nodded with a sigh. “Don’t remind me. Might as well pull an all-nighter.”

Gerry pet his cheek. “You’d regret it.”

“I probably wouldn’t even make it, knowing me.”

They shared a short kiss and a mumbled ‘good night’ before Michael tucked his head under Gerry’s chin, wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes.

It was still dark outside when Michael was putting on his coat and Gerry was impressed by how awake he seemed to be. Not if you looked close, Michael kept blinking, his eyes never really clearing fully from the lingering haze of sleep, and his fingers moved a bit clumsily as he buttoned up his coat. But he was doing better than Gerry had imagined, certainly better than Gerry, who couldn’t wait to get back to bed. He watched as Michael struggled with his scarf and decided to help out, gently taking the soft fabric from Michael’s hands and wrapping it around his neck without getting his hair unpleasantly trapped. Michael gave him a sleepy, grateful smile at that, then suddenly remembered something, eyes going a little wide.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you in the stress yesterday, but I did finish your scarf. In my bedside table.”

Gerry frowned for a moment, tired mind unsure what Michael was talking about, before he remembered that Michael had been knitting him a scarf in the past weeks. He smiled, smoothing Michael’s scarf and fixing the collar of his coat.

“Okay, love.” He pressed his lips to Michael’s for a moment. “I promise I’ll wear it when I pick you up in a week.”

Michael smiled into the kiss, mumbling. “Looking forward to it. Never seen you wear a scarf.”

“I don’t get cold easily.”

“Your stubbornness keeps you warm.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow. “So cheeky so early in the morning…”

“It’s before common sense sets in.” Michael chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I should get going.”

“Okay, have a good trip.” Gerry pet his cheek tenderly. “Don’t let Gertrude push you around too much.” 

Michael rolled his eyes. “She does no such thing.” He leaned in for another kiss, short but sweet.

“Mhm.” Gerry closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the kiss. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

Gerry watched him gather his luggage and walk through the door, stopping in the doorframe to wave at him. Gerry smiled. “Sure you don’t want my help with the luggage?”

“I’ll manage, thank you. See you in a week.”

Gerry couldn’t stop himself from leaning in for another kiss and Michael giggled into it. They pulled apart and Gerry watched Michael descent the stairs until he was out of sight. He yawned and closed the door, walking back to bed, burying his face in Michael’s pillow, breathing in his lingering scent.

Gerry never got to pick him up. Gertrude had the decency to call him and tell him Michael wouldn’t be back, so Gerry could break down at home rather than at the airport. He didn’t break down, not at first. He was trying to understand what she _meant_.

“What...what do you mean? He came back the last times, you al- he always comes back.”

Michael had been on a lot of trips with Gertrude. Gerry had worried, a part of him still worried, of course, but since Gertrude seemed to want to keep Michael as in the dark as possible about everything, he assumed she couldn’t really bring him on any dangerous trips. Gerry was usually called for that. Michael went when the stay was about doing research and working through paperwork and Michael _came back_. He always did. Why wouldn’t he?

Gerry hated Gertrude’s tone as she continued, “This was different, Gerard. I had to stop it.”

Stop what? What had she stopped? Usually Gerry helped her stop things. What had Michael been doing on a trip to _stop_ something? “Stop _what_? Why didn’t you take me? We- we could have-”

“We couldn’t have, I’m sorry.” And she actually sounded like she was sorry, which made it so much worse, which made it sound far too real, but it _couldn’t fucking be._

“Where is he?” There was an edge of panic creeping into Gerry’s voice, but his mind was spinning and he couldn’t control it. “Tell me where he is. I...I will- I will get him back, I will-”

“Gerard, Michael Shelley is gone. Nothing will bring him back.” 

She was using a gentler version of the voice she always used to make clear that the conversation was over and Gerry hated that tone so, so much, but he hated the words a lot more. _Gone_. Gerry would hear that word again and again in the weeks that followed, the months, the years, in dreams and awake. But right now, he was still trying to make sense of it, to make it stop echoing in his head.

“I understand you probably need some time. If you want to come back to work at some point, do so. If not, that’s fine, too.”

Gerry ended the call, not really listening anymore. He couldn’t _hear_ anymore, blood was rushing in his ears, or maybe it was his heartbeat, it was hard to tell, he couldn’t _breathe_. Gertrude was lying, she had to be. Gerry clutched the edge of the dinner table, blinking away the tears that had gathered in his eyes, taking a deep breath, or at least trying to. She was lying. He had to calm down because she was lying and Michael would be back, he knew he would. He had always been back.

Gerry spent some time waiting for him to come home, pacing. He still felt the panic, his hands were shaking as he stared at his phone, considered calling Gertrude again since Michael-- Michael’s number wasn’t in service, apparently. He couldn’t reach him. It had taken Gerry a lot to push the panic down again after that. But what would calling Gertrude achieve? Gertrude couldn’t be trusted. 

He decided to look up the place, instead, where the trip had been to. Somewhere in Russia. Gerry still remembered Michael talking about it, some island in Russia. His heart sank as he read the results. It wasn’t a place. Gertrude hadn’t even tried, trusting them both to follow her blindly. And they had. Gerry couldn’t keep the tears down anymore, then, hand clutching around his phone as he sobbed.

He had never thought he would hate the apartment as much as he started to hate it in the weeks that followed. Michael was everywhere. His favourite mug, the cushion he always used when his back started acting up while he was knitting, his hair products in the bathroom, his side of the closet, his side of the bed that was now empty every night and had stopped smelling of him. It was all a punch to the gut every time, no matter where Gerry looked he saw what was _missing_ . Michael was everywhere but he wasn’t really there. _Gone._

Gerry couldn’t take it. The bed was too big and cold and he couldn’t take the pain of waking up to the pillow beside his being devoid of soft breathing, and blond curls, and closed eyes with long, pale lashes Gerry used to love watching subtly move so much as Michael slept. Gerry slept on the couch after a particularly bad panic attack one morning. It was only marginally better. The apartment just felt _off_. Empty. There was no warmth in the subtle lavender scent. There was no warmth anywhere in it anymore. Gerry tried to roll into a tighter ball on the couch, hoping it would stop his shoulders from shaking with sobs. He didn’t particularly care if it succeeded.

He started putting Michael’s things into boxes when it just kept getting worse. He put them in the storage closet in the kitchen that was practically empty. Michael had been saying they needed to do some groceries before his trip. Gerry didn’t need that much space in the kitchen, he didn’t cook as much as Michael did, so he put his things in there and closed the door. Most of Michael’s gifts from over the years went in there, too. Michael only kept the black scarf he found in his bedside table, not bringing it over himself to lock it away after he had watched Michael carefully work on it for weeks. He put it in the back of the now half-empty closet. Some nights, Gerry got it out and curled up with it as he cried himself to sleep.

He wasn’t even sure if he felt better with everything out of sight. It had been _Michael’s_ apartment before so Michael still clung to everything. At least now it looked as empty as it felt, Gerry guessed. He ached for Michael’s giggling laughter, his sleepy smiles, the sound of his voice. His things hadn’t given him any of that, only painful memories. Hell, even the furniture did, sometimes. Gerry would walk into the quiet living room in the morning, trying to escape the too big, cold bed Gerry had been forced to go back to because his back was starting to kill him from sleeping on the couch. Michael had never contributed much warmth to it in body temperature, but he had in presence, in tentative touches and lazy kisses, always carefully asking for permission when Gerry didn’t make it obvious he wanted them. Gerry shook his head, trying to forget and remember waking up with Michael’s back pressed against his chest at the same time. 

He sat down on the couch and was suddenly hit by a memory, multiple ones that went similarly, of a half-asleep Michael bumping into the coffee table in the morning, a rare curse escaping his lips, before he quickly apologised - to the table, not to Gerry, who had been watching him in silence and burst into laughter at the scene.

It had been a while since Gerry had seen him blush so deeply. “G-good morning.”

“Morning. Did you make up with the table?” Gerry joked, walking towards the couch with their mugs.

“I just...I-” He sighed. “Yes.”

Gerry pet the space beside him on the couch. “It’s okay, Michael. I’m sure the furniture appreciates being talked to occasionally.”

Michael sat down next to him with a pout. “If it wouldn’t stand in the way I wouldn’t have to apologise…”

“I’m afraid the table was there for quite some time already.” Gerry grinned and squeezed his thigh gently. “How’s the shin? Does it need to be kissed better?”

Michael leaned back and looked at him. “Too lazy to move, but I’m sure my lips would deliver the sentiment…”

Gerry chuckled, “How convenient…,” before leaning in and pressing their lips together.

Gerry was crying again. He felt like he did little but that lately. He was either crying, or he was empty, or both at the same time. He wiped at the tears. Gerry was getting so tired of this. He needed distraction. 

Rosie gave him a look when he passed her desk with a mumbled greeting. He didn’t want to linger on the pity in her eyes and went directly to the archives. It was quiet, a lot like his apartment was, and Gerry tried not to linger on it. The dusty smell was different. Everything else was different, except that here, too, Michael was missing. Gerry didn’t bother knocking when he entered Gertrude’s office.

She looked surprised when she looked up, only for a second, but the satisfaction Gerry felt at that expression was distant and dull.

“Gerard?”

He sat down in front of her, taking the files she had just put on the table and looking through them. “What are we working on?”

Throwing himself into work did bring some distraction, though it took a lot for him to get used to the silence. Even when Michael and Gerry had been working without chatting, there had always been some kind of idle noises coming from the other desk, maybe some absent-minded humming or fidgeting with a pen or something like that. There was nothing, now, and every time Gerry’s eyes went to the other desk that had been source of much smiling and laughing over the years his heart clenched at how empty and untouched it looked now. The archive felt darker, somehow, colder without Michael asking him whether he wanted a cup of tea, too, without him worrying himself into a frenzy because he couldn’t get through to one of the contacts, without him simply being there to catch Gerry’s fleeting glances and give him a playful smile. Gerry took so many smoke breaks in the first weeks back at work.

He did still prefer the Institute to the apartment. There wasn’t enough distraction in it, and somehow it never really stopped hurting. Even when month turned into a year, more, it wasn’t rare for nights to end in sobs. Sometimes even the days were teary, weekends when he somehow ended up with nothing to do but stand in the kitchen with his mug and deliberately avoid looking at the storage closet door, hand shaking. Gerry would have done anything to feel Michael’s arms around him again, to hear him whisper reassurance into his ear, to _feel_ him again. He didn’t like to linger on those thoughts. They made it too apparent that Gerry was starting to forget how a lot of those things he missed actually felt, sounded, smelled. His senses felt dull and, sometimes, he was too numb to feel sad about it. He wasn’t sure if he preferred those instances to being wrecked by sobs.

Gerry didn’t exactly know what possessed him to open the door again after nearly two years. He was tired, so tired, and lonely, and all he wanted was to run his hand through those blond curls again. He didn’t recall how they felt anymore, but he remembered how much he had loved doing it, how breathtaking Michael’s blissful smile was when he did. Gerry was hurting so bad again, missing those moments, missing him. It happened, sometimes. Sometimes loss hit him like a punch to the gut and Gerry was a mess again, and had to pick himself up from the floor hours later. Sometimes he didn’t bother and slept there. It had never made him open that door again before.

Gerry would be gone for a while soon. Part of him wasn’t sure he would be back. A lot of the aching and soreness was physical, now, had started to become a different kind of pain, a bodily pain on top of what had long turned to be his normal state of being. He was exhausted, mentally, had been exhausted emotionally for a very long time, and now his body seemed to be giving up on him, too. Gerry didn’t care, but he imagined Michael would have, had he still been there. He’d become his fussy self, would have asked and worried and touched the hurting spots gently and maybe Gerry would have felt a little better because Michael was there and was trying to make him feel better and Gerry loved him. But Michael wasn’t there anymore, hadn’t been for a long time, and Gerry didn’t even know which part of him wasn’t in some kind of pain. 

The book was dusty when Gerry pulled it out - he hadn’t been very careful with properly closing the boxes - and Gerry gently brushed the dust off, looking at the last gift Michael had given him. Had it been the last one? Gerry’s memories had gone all muddled in the last months, too painful to think of, too precious to dare to forget. They were out of order, now, and some seemed a little wrong and Gerry hated himself for having let things come to that. But he was too weary to get really angry about it anymore. Mostly, he felt numb, even as he carefully opened the book to the bookmark he had left inside - it was a gas receipt from the little trip they had taken a month or so before his birthday, a very rainy weekend by the sea, full of long walks that left them stiff and cold and made Michael’s curls all frizzy, making them look like a halo of cotton candy around his face.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Michael had said when Gerry told him on one of those days when they had ducked into a cosy café.

“Then you have no idea how much I love that stuff,” Gerry has answered and looked around before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Michael’s already blushing cheek. Michael had looked around nervously, too, but relaxed when he saw that it was, indeed, empty. He had squeezed Gerry’s hand under the table and given him one of his lovely sweet smiles and Gerry had been happy and warm and fuzzy and now he was cold and alone and his head hurt as he tried to focus on the words on the page. 

He had never finished the book. He didn’t know why, he had dropped it only ten or twenty pages from the end. Maybe he had wanted to finish it with Michael there. He vaguely remembered thinking that, thinking that Michael always looked a little more nervous than was usual when he saw Gerry with this book in particular. Gerry had forgotten to ask him if he had read it before, if he was excited to discuss it when Gerry was done, or if maybe he was still unsure whether he had chosen well. Maybe Gerry taking so long to read it had given him doubts.

Reading was difficult with all the tears gathering in Gerry’s eyes. He was impressed he still had any left, but he barely felt them anymore. He was too dulled by too much crying and so he only noticed the tears when the words started swimming on the page. As his memories of plot and characters slowly started to return, he also remembered how he had read a lot of it with Michael around, sitting next to him in bed knitting, listening to some music and humming along gently. Curled up in Gerry’s lap, nodding off, leaning against his chest, hands gently caressing his free arm and hand after Gerry told him to feel free to do so. Michael’s hair had tickled his chin, but Gerry hadn’t said anything, not wanting him to move away. 

A tear fell and hit the page, but Gerry read on. The text was still readable. He liked to think this was making it easier imagining Michael wrapping his arms around him from behind, as he had so, so many times in this small kitchen, back when it hadn’t looked like a gaping hole in Gerry’s heart. Gerry closed his eyes for a moment, the tears making it impossible to make sense of the words with his head pounding and hand shaking, and he thought he could nearly remember the feeling of those arms, always on the thin side but still there, a substantial presence as they squeezed Gerry gently and lips came to whisper something into his ear, a simple greeting, sweet nothings, all delivered like it was the most important message Michael had ever spoken, voice soft, maybe a little bit of a chuckle in it, nearly always a smile. It wasn’t a memory, but something Gerry had conjured from all those half-buried memories that had gone similarly, and he couldn’t really remember any of the words, or the pressure of Michael’s arms, or the beating of his heart. Gerry dropped the book and buried his head in his hands to cry.

It took a while before Gerry managed to catch himself somewhat. He dragged himself to bed with the book, pulling Michael’s scarf from under the pillow on Michael’s untouched side of the bed and rolling up with it before continuing reading.

Gerry didn’t get to read the last page, eyes instantly drawn to the handwriting underneath the last paragraph. It was Michael’s, his neat kind when he carefully put time and effort into writing rather than the messy, barely legible notes he took for himself - he himself would often end up being unable to decipher them - and it read:

_I would like to marry you, if you would like to?_

Gerry froze, heart clenching as the words settled, as he understood. Some things clicked into place he hadn’t thought about in a long time, because the memories closest to the end were ones he feared the most, feared would make him relive that call, the crushing agony as he slowly was forced to realise Michael would, indeed, not be coming back. 

Michael had been nervous, and Gerry had assumed he was just going through one of his more anxious phases. Michael was always on edge and it had taken time for Gerry to tune in and notice when it was getting worse. He generally didn’t like being confronted with it when Gerry noticed, so Gerry had gotten into the habit to just be more present in silence during such times, maybe hold him a little tighter when they curled up in bed, always give Michael amble space to talk, if he needed to, questions vague enough to not be confrontational but close enough for him to understand the invitation to talk. Michael often didn’t - and hadn’t in those last weeks, either - but now Gerry realised that Michael had been most noticeably nervous when he saw Gerry with the book in hand and his heart shattered all over again.

Was he imagining the sliver of nervous excitement in Michael’s voice when he said maybe Gerry would be through by the time he was back from Russia? Was Gerry imagining the fleeting, hopeful glances whenever Michael saw him with the book in his hand? Fuck, was Gerry making these memories up or were they being unearthed from where he had buried them, the painful quiet moments, the exact tone of Michael’s voice that didn’t sound right in his memory? Why had Gerry taken so long to read it? Would it have made a difference if he hadn’t? Did Michael die thinking his answer could have been anything but yes?

It was Michael. Of course he had. Doubt was not something he ever managed to really shake off. Gerry felt like he was choking and gasped, clutching the book in his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> as promised, I could not decide whether I liked this or the fluffy happy ending version more, so I wrote both and deciding is your problem, my lovely reader :)


End file.
